


Enthralled

by Hippediva



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: AU, Angst, BDSM, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-10-29
Updated: 2001-10-29
Packaged: 2017-10-08 05:31:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/73192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hippediva/pseuds/Hippediva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In an AU, Master Qui-Gon Jinn has a mission on a feudal planet that changes his life. This uses the idea of bonding as a Force-sensitive's version of that emotion that makes us all insane: love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Enthralled

**Author's Note:**

> NC-17 for noncon, violence. / xxxxx / equals thinking to self. // xxxxxx // equals mindspeak.

Tivallia VI was a small world set in an elliptical orbit around a small sun. Its arable land was limited to a band around its equator, sectioned into massive estates held by the planets' eight ruling families. It was also about as primitive a world as Dealik Pitco had ever had the misfortune to see in half-a-hundred years of shuttling around the galaxy. He had spent the past fifteen working part-time for the Jedi Temple, taking one Knight or another to some mission. Handy with a blaster and surprisingly quick for a man of his height and bulk, he was relegated to the softer side of transport these days. At fifty-seven, he wasn't getting any younger, but he did miss having a good story to tell over a few pints with his mates back on Coruscant.

This time, he had taken Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn to Tivallia VI for some formal inter-planetary negotiations. Evidently, the little world wanted Republic protection. It made sense, Dealik thought. Far on the edge of the Inner Core, without technology of any kind, the Tivallians could have been easy pickings for Outer Rim pirates. Dealik snorted. / If they had anything worth stealing, that is! /

Pitco was used to the Jedi Knights, but had rarely encountered a full Master before Jinn boarded "The Beast" four days ago. This Master was only an inch taller than Dealik himself, but seemed much taller. Quite frankly, Pitco was a little in awe of him. He spoke rarely, smiled even more rarely and carried himself as though he were a king. Hands tucked into his voluminous robes, he strode on board the little ship, blue eyes sweeping over everything, lips set beneath a short beard. The pilot scowled. It almost looked like disdain. "The Beast" was a small transport badly in need of a paint job, but she was fast and deceptively manoueverable. Pitco snarled into his ale. He didn't like this Master Jinn much, nor did he like this pit of a planet. Maybe he was getting too old for all this running about the galaxy.

The Tivallians had a strict feudal hierarchy and pilots were considered a somewhat higher-class servant. He was given a small room in the service wing of the mouldering estate house. The fortress itself was actually a warren of houses, all built of local stone, all freezing in the winter snows. Talk about backwards, Dealik thought sourly. He'd had to land the ship far outside the estate fields and mount local pack animals to the fortress complex. He'd even tried to argue the fact with Jinn, but was silenced by one of those piercing looks. Now, he understood: even a small craft like his would have scared the locals witless. Water was drawn from wells, plowing was done with oxen-type beasts. These people were truly out of the galactic-loop, he thought.

/ But the ale is damned good! / He was settled at a rough-hewn table in the enormous kitchen. It was warm in here and he had nothing to do but wait for Jinn to finish with the fine folk in the big house. Around him, servants scurried about with bowls of stored fruit and vegetables; pigs snorted in a p en at the far wall; fowl strutted about, getting underfoot. The ovens were one entire brick wall and the fireplace with it's gigantic pots hanging like witches' cauldrons, was the size of a room by itself.

The Tivallians themselves were a humanoid and handsome people, however backward. Dealik had already gotten a smile or two from the serving girls. He grinned into his ale. Too young for me, he thought, preferring to keep one eye on the buxom Head Baker. She sauntered over to him, hands on her broad hips.

"Outworlder? Do you like our ale?"

Pitco bowed over the tankard. "Enough to know who to beg for a refill."

He watched the sway of her bottom under its layers of skirts with pleasure as she went to the great barrel.

Just then, the Junior Cook shouted.

"Watch your step, Oaf. And get to them dishes."

He cuffed the scrawny bundle of rags labouring under a yoke with two slopping buckets of water. The hooded figure bowed its head under the blow in silence, struggling to carry the water to the half-hogshed. Carefully, the yoke was set down and the youth removed his ragged hood.

Dealik watched him pour the two buckets, then kneel down to scrub a pot that was almost as big as he was, and probably weighed twice as much. A youth of nineteen or twenty, he was as skinny and wretched as the starving cats that came to the kitchen door for scraps. Pitco could see the glint of light reflected into a pair of enormous eyes that seemed to take up his entire face. The Junior Cook walked back to him and struck him another blow to the head, then aimed a kick at his backside.

"You idiot. You were supposed to have that done an hour back." He dragged the lad's head back by a mane of matted, dirty hair. "Get it done fast. I need that pot!" He landed a final blow to the thin face. Still, there wasn't a sound from the youth, although Dealik could see him biting his lip.

Just then, Baker Big-Bust came back with his ale. Dealik jerked a thumb at the kneeling youth.

"Who's that?"

She glanced over her shoulder with a grimace. "Who? The Oaf. A thrall and good for nothing around here, the idiot-boy."

"I dunno, Missus. A kick like that'd have me yelling."

"He ain't allowed to talk."

She leaned over and Dealik was momentarily distracted by the twin-mountain landscape of her ample bosom.

"Not allowed? Why?" He didn't know why it bothered him, but there it was.

"He's one of the weird ones. He's a thrall. And he ain't allowed to make a sound. That's the way of it."

She was clearly bored of the subject and, since Dealik wanted a bit more of her company, he abandoned it.

Much later, he had settled on a bench near the fireplace and noticed the youth again. He was close to the fire and Pitco could see him clearly. Bone-thin and hopelessly dirty, the only features of his face that were remarkable were those eyes. They were huge, silver-blue in the firelight. Other than that, he was grimy and bruised. There was no beard although Dealik could see the fire glinting off reddish stubble. He shook his head and lay back to relax in the warmth.

The Head Cook's roar woke him from a doze.

"You stupid fool! Get over here and finish this before I take the cane to you."

The boy moved, surreptitiously shooing something out of his lap. The Cook marched over and yanked him up to his knees.

"What the hell is that? What do you think you're doing, you brat!" He punctuated each word with a blow, then dropped the youth and dragged a kitten out of the corner, holding it by the scruff of the neck.

"I told you not to bring these damned things in here, you moron. " He swung his beefy arm back, preparing to throw the mewling kit into the fire.

The boy's face was agonised. He reached up his hands pleadingly, his thin chest heaving with silent sobs. Worst of all was the expression in the big eyes: terror for the little creature he loved amid memories of others he had lost.

"Not a smart way to lose a good mouser." Dealik drawled as he stood.

The Cook turned and looked at him. Pitco shrugged. "Seems to me you could use a few of them in your storerooms."

The big men eyed each other, the kitten cried piteously and the boy's tears shone like diamonds in the flickering light. Dealik wasn't a sentimental man, but he liked animals and wasn't about to sit by and watch a baby kit killed for spite. The young man's silent anguish begged his interference, though the lad's eyes never wavered from the small black and white animal. He strode forward and pulled the kitten from the Cook's hand. His face was scornful.

"You've got rats in the grain stores. You could use one like this when it got bigger."

The Cook growled, "What do you know about it, Outlander?"

Pitco held his ground, cradling the frightened animal gently. "I know a bloody rat when I see one!"

He changed his tactics. "Then again, maybe your Lord don't care if his bread has rat shit in it."

The Cook glared. "I keep a clean kitchen here. Moars is in charge of stores."

"Well maybe you should get him a few cats. He could use them."

The Cook shrugged and turned his attention back to the kneeling youth who was staring at the pilot with wide eyes.

"You. Out to the block."

The boy bit his lip and obeyed too slowly. The big man dragged him up by one thin arm and pushed him out the kitchen door.

Dealik sat back down, petting the kitten absently. Even through the door, he could hear the vicious thwack of the blows, but there was still not a sound from the boy. Curious, he put the animal back down in the corner and watched from the doorway in cold, detached horror.

The Cook had the boy bent over a rough wooden block, his leggings down around his knees and stuck out with a thick cane as hard as he could across the skinny bottom and thighs. Each blow left brutal marks across the pale flesh and Dealik shuddered. It had to be agony but there were no screams, not even a whimper.

The Cook turned, saw Dealik and aimed one last blow across the quivering thighs. He threw down the cane and pulled the boy's head up. Dealik nearly lost his dinner. The youth was fastened to the block by hooks threading a pair of silver rings through his nipples.

"One more misstep, boy and you'll be outside with the rest of the chattel." He pulled the boy up far enough to cruelly strain the pierced, distended flesh. Then he unhooked them and tossed the young man aside like a sack of meal.

"Get yourself together and finish paring them apples or I swear I'll give you another one. And let Junior and Moars make you sorry you were born."

The Cook pushed past Pitco back into the kitchen, then turned. "I'd leave the Oaf alone. You'll only make things worse for him."

The boy sat up, wincing, his thin arms folded across his chest. He was shaking convulsively as he struggled to his feet and pulled up his leggings. His face was streaked with tears and dirt, but his eyes sought Dealik's and he tried to smile. There was a world of gratitude in that quavering smile.Then, a slight shadow, he edged past Dealik back to the kitchen. As they passed, his long fingers brushed the pilot's and pressed them, a ghost of a thankful touch.

Dealik scowled into the torchlit courtyard at the block. It was going to be a long two weeks.

* * *

He was right. He tried to get out of the kitchen by taking walks, but it was bitterly cold and his weather-gear was back in "The Beast". He was trapped in the servants' wing.

The Oaf was a favourite target for nearly all the kitchen staff, and Dealik wondered why. He didn't seem any different than the rest, except he was dirtier and more bruised. He saw the young man slink out to the half-frozen water trough in the mornings, struggling to wash and shave with an ill-honed knife. He saw too many beatings, too many blows, too many dirty tricks to guarantee those blows.

Pitco knew better than to interfere. For two days after the kitten incident, the Cook, Junior and even the serving girls did their level best to hurt him as much as possible, clearly aware of the pilot's disgusted glares, and daring him to repeat his rescue attempts.

No matter what they did, from beatings to pinches and nasty cuffs, the youth never made a sound. He might as well have been born without vocal cords.

Finally, ten days later, Master Jinn came to his quarters to inform him that they would be leaving in two days' time. Nice of him to bother coming himself, the pompous ass, thought Dealik. He threw on his jacket and opened the door to the courtyard and froze.

The boy was once again slung over the block, but this time Junior was hunched over him, hips pumping. The quartermaster was just fastening his leggings and disappeared into the kitchen.

The Junior Cook's grunting sent gusts of frost from lips curled into a grimace. Pitco could just see the boy's face, eyes squeezed shut, mouth open in a silent parody of a scream. The Junior Cook shouted his completion just as the pilot yanked him off the trembling youth by the collar.

"That's it!!" he roared. "Damn you to all Sith hells for a sick piece of bantha shit!!"

He tossed Junior down and leaned over him, bushy grey brows lowering. "It's an insult to my kind to do such things in plain sight. Now get out of mine before I carve you up into mincemeat!!"

The shocked servant stammered, then frog-crawled backwards to a safe distance by the kitchen door.

"It's his own fault!" he cried as he stood up. "He knows better than to make any noise."

Dealik ignored him and gently lifted the quivering body to unhook those unspeakable restraints. He pulled the ragged leggings up over a backside marked black and blue from yet another caning, holding the lad at arm's length.

"Are you all right, boy?"

The big eyes met his, swimming with tears, then he collapsed against Pitco's big belly. Dealik simply held him for a moment, trying not to crush the skinny shoulders, his teeth grinding with rage. He breathed it out, letting the young man cling to him, then scooped him up and carried him back to his own room.

Once satisfied that the boy was comfortable on his bed, he stalked back into the kitchen.

"What the hell was that all about?" he demanded.

The Cook's face was beet-red and streaming sweat over the soup. "Oaf knows better. He spilled some hot broth and cried out. He knows not to make any noise. "

Pitco groaned. All that abuse and the lad was probably scalded as well.

"All right. I'm not going to even talk about it. How much for him?"

The entire kitchen staff went silent and stared. "How much for him? He's a thrall, right? That means he can be bought. How much?"

He watched greed jump into the Cook's eyes and stared it down.

"I need a pair of hands to help. He'll do. How much?" Pitco closed in, green eyes narrowed. "And don't try to play games with me, you Jawa turd. I'll give you fifty Republic credits for him."

Someone near the oven whistled, someone else tittered.

"Fifty!! Republic credits for the Oaf?" Moars sat down on the bench, chortling.

"He's worth less than two!" one of the girls giggled.

"Hey, Cookie, you should pay to get him off your hands!"

Pitco held the big man's eyes. "Fifty. Done?" He reached out his hand.

Cook hesitated. "I shouldn't. He belongs to the Lord."

Pitco sneered. "As though your Lord even knows he exists!! Fifty."

The Cook's hand took his. "Done."

Dealik thanked all the deities he kept his money safe and in cash-credits. He pulled out his money-pouch and handed the Cook two twenty credit bits and a tenner.

"Does he have a name?"

The Cook shrugged. Busty Baker smiled at Pitco. "I think it's Ben. Ben Ken-something."

Dealik stomped back to his room.

The boy wasn't on the bed. Frantically, Dealik spun around. He was on the floor in the far corner, crushed against the wall.

"It's all right, lad. Just stay here. Just stay put."

The boy flinched back and Pitco tried to soften a voice gone hard with outrage.

"I'm getting something to eat. You stay here. Cook's orders."

That did the trick. The dirty mop of hair bobbed and he tried to push himself further into the corner.

Pitco went back to the kitchen, demanded food and checked around the fireplace. He found what he wanted and stalked back to the room.

"Hey. Hey, you. Here." He held out the sleepy kitten.

The young man's hands were shaking as he reached out for the little beast. It settled happily in his lap and went back to sleep.

For the next day and a half, Pitco watched the frightened youth and wondered just what he'd done. He brought food for them both, refusing to eat with the ruffians in the kitchen any longer. Ben watched him with wide eyes, trembled at his approach and seemed to feed most of his dinner to the cat. It was worse than pathetic how he wouldn't even reach for the plates the pilot got for him, until Pitco nearly pushed them into his face. He still never made a sound.

Thanks to the ghods, his High Holiness, Master Jinn stopped by to give the pilot some datapad documents and told him to get back to the ship. Pitco mounted the youth on the pack beast, the kitten curled up in his shoulder sack. How much Ben understood, Dealik couldn't tell. He seemed to comprehend that he had been sold and allowed himself to be led away passively.

When they approached "The Beast", Ben stopped, staring in terror. Pitco cursed to himself and laid a big, gentle hand on the thin shoulder. The boy had never seen anything like a transport ship and was shuddering with fear. Even so, he followed the pilot up the ramp and into the depths of an unknown world.

Master Jinn deigned to join them several hours later, followed by a horde of servants bearing food supplies and various other gifts to be presented to the Republic administrators. He swept into the common room and froze.

"Who's there?" his voice was sharp. The negotiations had been excruciating, he was tired and hungry and not in the mood for any delays.

A low rustle in the corner, then his nose wrinkled at the stench of dirty clothing.

There was a skinny young man curled on the deck against the plasteel wall.

Master Jinn marched up to the cockpit.

"Just what do you think you are doing, Pitco?"

"Whatever I want on my ship, Master Jinn." The big pilot answered evenly, starting up the engines.

"Who is that creature?"

"That creature is my new help. Leave him alone."

"He reeks. Can't you make him bathe?" The Jedi's voice dripped sarcasm.

"Didn't want to scare him. Sonics. You should understand." Pitco turned and eyed the tall Jedi. "I thought you were the peace and love types."

Master Jinn's lip twitched and he bowed smoothly. "Forgive my outburst. " he murmured as he backed out.

"Hypocritical bastard." Dealik added a few choice curses in Huttese to his commentary.

Master Jinn stalked back into the common room. Besides the cargo hold, it was the only room on the little ship, the two bunks folding out of the walls.

Serenity, he thought. I must be calm and collected. Qui-Gon knew he was short-tempered and his nerves were in a frazzle. He settled himself on the decking and began his meditation exercises, aware that a pair of very frightened eyes watched his every move from the corner. As he began to achieve a light trance, he felt something else pulling at him, a sweet song drifting through his consciousness. He opened his eyes.

The boy was shaking visibly. His ragged clothing was certainly no proof against the chill of space. There was a soft whisper in the Force and Qui-Gon stared blankly, listening for its origins.

"You're Force-sensitive."

The storm-coloured eyes fixed on his, but there was no answer.

"Are you?" The Jedi Master's voice gentled. The young man's fear was palpable and he tried to remember that, if this boy was Tivallian, he could never have experienced anything like a space travel.

"It's all right. I won't hurt you."

Qui-Gon reached into his pack and pulled out an old robe. He offered it.

"Here. I can see you're cold."

The boy flinched back from his arm. Qui-Gon stretched his mind out and moved forward slowly, aware of the nearly catatonic terror washing through the young mind. Gently, he wrapped the robe around the shaking shoulders.

A small movement to his left made him pivot sharply. The youth scrabbled past him on his knees, retreating back to his corner with something small squirming in his lap.

"What have you got there?" There were times Qui-Gon wished Jedi could scream with frustration, like other folks.

The boy turned away protectively.

"I won't hurt it. "

Master Jinn was shocked to see so many emotions in the big eyes: defiance, fear, confusion, determined courage. Clearly, the young man wasn't going to trust him with his prize. He heard a small, protesting mew and smiled.

"A kitten? Kittens are nice."

There was doubt in those eyes and a little furrow between beautiful, even brows. Qui-Gon moved towards him again, slowly. He lifted the fallen robe and pulled it back over the skinny shoulders.

"You take care of your kitten."

He backed away before he stood and returned to the cockpit.

"He's mute?"

Pitco set the hyperspace and enjoyed a little moment of triumph when the jolt made the Master Jedi stumble. / Serves you right, you son of a Hutt! /

"No. He wasn't allowed to speak, or make a sound. They said it wasn't allowed."

"Why not?"

"What business is it of yours? Just don't scare the lad any more than he already is."

Qui-Gon settled into the co-pilot's seat. "I sense a Force signature."

The heavy pilot turned on him, his voice low. "Listen, you bastard. Don't you start your high mucky-muck religion shit on me or that poor boy. He's been through enough and I don't need it. Just let him alone."

Master Jinn sighed. "I owe you an apology, Pitco. I couldn't leave the negotiating table to spend time with anyone. They're remarkably, ahem, barbaric."

"No shit!" the pilot spat. "You didn't see the--. Oh, never mind. You Jedi are always too busy with your high and mighty politicos to see the little people."

Qui-Gon smiled. "And he's one of the little people?"

Dealik glared at him. "They said he was one of the 'weird' ones. That he wasn't allowed to make a sound. I saw them do things to that boy I wouldn't want done to a Sith. So I took him out of there."

"You bought him."

"Yeah, I bought him." The pilot leaned over, his face inches from the Jedi's hawkish, broken nose. "I bought him after I spent two weeks watching him beaten, abused, cuffed, pinched, and starved. I saw him raped, Master Jedi. Is that in your bloody experience?"

Qui-Gon's face twitched. No wonder the lad was so much like a scared animal.

"Pitco, I think it might be because he's Force-sensitive. They were very much afraid of me, although they tried hard not to show it." He sighed deeply. "Odd. I didn't think the Tivallians kept slaves."

"They called him a thrall. All I know is that I bought his freedom from that hell-hole. I know he's scared to death, but I couldn't stand it."

Qui-Gon hid another smile in his beard. / Well, at least I'm not the only one who picks up strays. / "I'm glad you did. Interesting. A thrall means he was bound to the estate. Not per say, a slave, but close enough. " The Jedi Master's voice was low, almost as though he were talking to himself. "Did you ever see him use any Force abilities?"

Pitco glared at him. "No, I ---" he stopped short. There had been a moment, when one of the lower staff had tripped him deliberately while he was carrying a big bowl of hot stew to the table. Ben had moved at unnatural speed to recover his balance and the bowl. "Yes. He--he moved too fast once. To keep from falling. The Cook saw and beat him for it." Dealik grimaced, remembering the boy's silent submission to the blows of the huge iron ladle across his shoulders.

"I thought so. It seems that even Tivallians have potential initiates. I wonder that we never searched there."

"Tell me, Master Jinn. Have the Jedi ever been let on that Sith-forsaken rock before you poked your nose in?" Pitco had stopped glaring but wasn't about to be more than cool with the Jedi.

"No. I believe I was the first. This will bear some thought." There was a long silence. "Does the boy have a name?"

"They called him 'Oaf', but I think it's Ben. Ben Ken-whatever. No one in the kitchen was sure. Listen, Jinn." Pitco leaned forward again, green eyes hostile under their heavy brows. "Leave him alone. You're probably scaring the living daylights out of him. He's got nothing except what he's wearing and that cat they nearly killed in front of him." The pilot's voice was harsh with the memory. "I know he stinks but the sonics will just frighten him. So put up with it. We'll be on Altaira for your next political junket in a day. They've got water baths."

"I'm not in the habit of frightening people, Pitco." The Jedi stood up with quiet dignity. "And certainly not someone like Ben, you can rest assured."

* * *

On Altaira, it was Master Jinn who was finally able to coax Ben into the 'fresher and set it to water. Dealik Pitco had gone to the local bazaar and bought some simple clothing for him, but it lay across the pallet in the pilot's room, untouched, while the wretched boy insisted on curling up on the floor with the kitten.

Qui-Gon had been loathe to do it, but he finally had to use a little Force-push to get him into the bath. Once in it, he worried if Ben had drowned he was there so long. Mindful of what Pitco had told him, he left the young man alone and spent the time ridding the kitten of fleas, then left to discard the reeking, ragged clothing.

Ben emerged into the room shyly, wrapped in a big towel. He stood in the doorway for a moment, noticed that Qui-Gon was not in the room and relaxed. The little black and white cat bounded over to him and he bent to scratch her ears. Then he heard the whoosh of the door and his face took on that pinched, frightened look again. He dropped the towel and lay face-down on the bed.

Master Jinn was horrified to find him spread out, waiting patiently to be used.

"No!!! No, no!! That's not what I meant!!" He hastened to throw a blanket over the emaciated body. He sat down on the bed and traced a particularly bad bruise on the boy's shoulder. "This is what I meant."

From deep within himself, the Jedi Master summoned all his skill to begin to heal the bruise, his mind flooded with images of the boy at five, screaming at a blow there; at ten, knuckles shoved into his mouth to stifle a cry; at thirteen, biting his lip until it bled to keep from making a sound. Each image centered on that place, a scrapbook of suffering that went bone-deep.

Gently, Qui-Gon began to explore and erase the roadmap of abuse, each bruise and stripe on the slight body, at least from the waist up. Hesitant to pull the covers lower, he stopped.

Ben stared at him doubtfully.

"Does it hurt anywhere else?" The Jedi Master's voice was soft.

The thin cheeks flushed painfully and Qui-Gon reached to cup the bony buttocks, careful to keep his touch impersonal, wincing at the pain the lad had been suffering. Gently, he urged Ben to turn over and repeated his ministrations. His big hands hovered over the silver rings piercing the reddened, swollen nipples. The aching nubs softened beneath his touch and the boy breathed out a silent sigh of relief.

"Better?" he smiled. Force, the lad was starved half to death, but he was remarkably beautiful despite the bones so visible through the fragile flesh. The sensations he had felt as he healed those pitiful wounds were swirling with a mysterious calm. He felt a closeness, a tingling kinship that he had never experienced anywhere in his long years of galactic travel.

Ben took one of the big hands in his and touched it to his forehead.

It took all Qui-Gon's control to release his anger into the Force and stay calm. He could only imagine how long it had been since anyone had offered the boy a gentle touch. Had anyone ever, in his short life, been kind to Ben? He doubted it. Some of the damage had been old; broken bones badly healed, a scar on one lung that indicated a long-ago cracked rib. He needed a proper Healer. Outrage bubbled right below the surface of the Jedi Master's mind and he struggled to damp it. The boy could sense it and was beginning to tremble again.

Qui-Gon patted the lad's shoulder, the blades thrusting through the pale skin like bird's wings. He got his comb and scissors and began to work at the tangled, wet hair. He worried at the knots, cut out the worst of them, then tried to even the shaggy mop into some kind of shape until it framed the thin face with tawny waves. The boy had bourne the pulling and yanking, typically, in silence. Now, he leaned back against the big Jedi, his eyes closed in relaxation.

// I wish you could talk to me. // Qui-Gon tried gently to speak into his mind.

Ben turned and reached up one hand to touch his cheek.

// Thank you. // The mental words were so soft, Qui-Gon almost missed them.

Even a Jedi Master can be shocked. Qui-Gon stared down at Ben. "You can -- "

For the first time, the young man smiled at him. // Yes. //

Something inside of Qui-Gon Jinn grew warm and glowed within that smile. Disoriented, he blinked as the youth took his hand and kissed it gently.

// Thank you. // Ben repeated, the words lingering in the Jedi Master's mind.

* * *

Master Jinn's assignment on Altaira lasted perhaps three weeks. During that time, Ben padded about the quarters, folding clothing, fetching tea and meals, finding innumerable little ways to keep himself busy. Pitco was not happy that the boy still flinched from a raised voice and curled up on the deck instead of taking a chair. However, regular meals had put at least a little flesh on his wasted body and he looked healthier. He certainly appeared happier.

Dealik divided his time between crawling from tavern to tavern in the evenings and taking care of some maintenance on "The Beast." The boy hovered nearby, holding the toolbox and always seemed to know which wrench or ratchet Pitco needed, although it was patently impossible that he could differentiate between a dytoid spanner and a mechlo dremstick. The big pilot scowled, working on a stubborn nut in the hyperdrive casing. Maybe that Jinn was right. Maybe the boy was Force-sensitive and was pulling the images from his mind.

He watched curiously as the stuck nut began to spin free by itself, and glanced back at Ben. The big eyes met his, quite clearly looking for approval.

"Yes, yes. Thanks, boy."

Dealik was equally unhappy about the way the young man deferred to the Master Jedi. Force-sensitive or not, he hadn't gone to the trouble of securing the lad's freedom to have it snatched away by those politico-mystics. Yes, the big Jedi was pretty awe-inspiring and he'd been very kind when healing the abused young body. He wouldn't have known about that except that Ben himself had shown him a back free of welts and bruises, his eyes shining and shy. Pitco ran his fingers through thick grey hair. Jinn wasn't a bad man. He was just one of those high and mighty types who were always convinced they were right.

Well, if he thought he was going to drag Ben back to that Temple of his without getting an ear full, he had the wrong man.

Qui-Gon closed his eyes in daily meditation, once again aboard "The Beast", bound for his next assignment on Alderaan. Since that first tentative attempt to communicate, he skittered away from the ever-growing melody pulling him to the boy like a tractor beam. Ben had taken to caring for his clothing, making sure he had the steaming cup of tea he liked before bed; little things he had never mentioned or asked the youth to fetch. There was only one possible way Ben could anticipate his wants and, for the first time in a half-century of dedicated Jedi service, Qui-Gon Jinn doubted the wisdom of the Force.

He saw the unfurling cable beginning to wind and twist between them. The blue eyes snapped open. He knew what it was as surely as any Jedi would know: a bond was growing between him and this starved, ragged outcast who couldn't speak except in his mind; who, even then, hardly dared to share a thought. Every second he concentrated on it, he could see the glowing line grow stronger and more insistent, a siren song in his heart.

He knew when the boy was watching him, knew also that Dealik Pitco was fi ercely protective of Ben and distrusted his motives. Qui-Gon sighed and stretched out his legs, trying to work the kinks out of his shoulders. This could prove worse than the most tangled political dispute.

He had no wish to hurt the lad, or make him a bone of contention. On a purely intellectual level, it interested him that he could not read Ben easily. The young man had learned to shield himself thoroughly, although Qui-Gon was not sure if it was deliberate or simply a reaction to the trauma of his ostracised life. He made it a point never to attempt to breach those shields, although he could easily have done it had he so chosen. Desperately, he wished he were back at the Temple with Ben. He knew too much to be completely untrained, yet how could he have had any training in a world where the simple fact of his sensitivity made him a pariah?

If Master Jinn had known about the various little ways Ben had been helping Pitco, he would have been more set on returning to Coruscant with the youth. As it was, he tried to ignore the growing bond between them and the growing animosity between himself and the pilot.

On Alderaan, Pitco had managed to do what pilots inevitably do: he got royally drunk and staggered back to their quarters in a fine state. Qui-Gon heard the bellowed singing and rolled over, pulling the pillow over his head, startling the growing kitten who had decided that his loosened hair made a wonderful bed. He never had understood the need to lose oneself in artificial oblivions. Then he remembered the boy. How much of this sort of behavior Ben had seen and suffered, he could only guess. He rose and threw on his sleep robe, just as Dealik stumbled into the shared common room.

"Y'rrr a gooo lad..." he heard. Then there was soft shuffling, the door to the pilot's room opening and closing.

Qui-Gon waited in breathless silence, straining every sense he possessed for any kind of violence. A part of him, outside of himself, yet deep within, whispered his need and his protection. The other half of him struggled for a false serenity in the face of the overwhelming Force crushing his heart to the silent youth's.

The door opened and and closed softly. He could just hear the pilot's snoring, and the soft padding of the boy's feet. His own door opened.

The young man's face was ghostly pale in the moonlight, his eyes silvery.

"Everything is all right?"

The boy nodded and smiled softly, one finger to his lips. Then he slid back into the shadows, followed by the kitten, and closed the door.

The mission on Alderaan complete, they once again boarded "The Beast", this time en route to the Betaan system. For the first time in almost two months, Qui-Gon was worried. This task was a little more tricky, the two main planets embroiled in an ongoing, if half-hearted civil war. The system was less refined than either Altaira or Alderaan. Qui-Gon had hoped that Dealik would keep to the ship, but they were shuttled away from it immediately upon landing.

He could feel Ben's thrill of fear the moment they came to the city. It was a forbidding place, all grey plasteel and lowering skies. The people, too, frightened him, humanoid and very rough-mannered. For the first time, Qui-Gon and Pitco found themselves in accord, sandwiching Ben between them, both aware of the appraising looks he attracted.

Qui-Gon settled back in their quarters, watching the silent youth putter about, shelving clothes and other belongings from their packs. Slowly allowing himself to detach from his own tangled emotions, he tried to see Ben as those passers-by had seen him. He was quite beautiful, now that his face had lost that pinched, starved hollowness and he moved with an instinctive grace, freed from the cringing slink of their early days together. He was not tall and still too thin, but well-proportioned and there was a wide-eyed curiosity in his look that was quite enchanting.

Master Jinn sighed and pinched the bridge of his aquiline nose to fight off a headache. He had long hours of delicate negotiations in the days ahead and wondered idly what a nice, long vacation was like. He couldn't recall having more than a few days to himself for over a decade. A knock on the door made him sigh and open his eyes reluctantly.

Pitco sat next to him, toying with a flask.

"Listen, Jinn. I don't like it." The heavy grey brows knotted. He kept his voice low. "I'll keep him close. I don't like the way they were looking at him. "

Qui-Gon nodded. "Predatory. As though they know he's vulnerable." The Jedi Master couldn't repress another sigh. The strong preying on the weak, and only the honour or kindness of a few to step between them was a cruel scenario he had lived out more times in his life than most.

"Worse." Dealik took a long drink from the flask and passed it back to Qui-Gon. For once, the tall Jedi indulged in a gulp of the Alderaanian brandy. It burned down his throat in a pleasant fashion. "We're being watched and he's a chink. One side or another might consider using him as a pawn to force your allegiance."

Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow. The pilot was more observant than he had imagined. "I know. I'm sorry I didn't have you stay in orbit and shuttle down. They won't let you leave if they think they have a potential hostage."

"Don't worry." The big pilot smiled grimly. "I won't let him out of my sight. The last thing that boy needs is to be hurt now. He's just beginning to live."

Qui-Gon did not miss the protective, almost possessive note in the pilot's voice. "I'll keep my eyes open. You keep him close. Hopefully, this won't take long and we can get out of here." The Jedi Master took another long drink of the brandy. It felt good, warming his gut and erasing the tension of his thoughts.

The first night, Qui-Gon returned to their assigned quarters tired and tight as a bowstring. The bickering between the sides was ridiculous; argument for the sake of argument. There was a darkness he sensed, amphorous and cruel, hovering somewhere between the two warring parties, delighting in the stalled talks and waiting, like a spider spinning its web. His head and shoulders ached.

Ben watched the Jedi Master disappear into his room with worried eyes. Pitco had not left him alone for a moment all that day. They had gone down to the commissary for a meal, but the continued stares had made the boy so nervous that Dealik grabbed their food and brought it back to the room. Even the cat was skittish and fluffed her fur at any sudden noise.

Silent as a shade, Ben followed Qui-Gon, unaware of Pitco's disapproving stare. For a moment, he watched the tall Jedi sitting on the bed, shoulders uncharacteristically slumped.

Qui-Gon was surprised when he felt the slight weight on the mattress behind him, and the long fingers began to firmly massage the kinks out of his shoulder blades. Ben's touch was sure, his fingers digging gently into the knots, coaxing the tension out of the Jedi Master's stiff back. Qui-Gon's head fell forward as he felt the healing Force surging into the tight muscles, each of the boy's fingers a conduit of relaxation.

Ben stood up and pushed him back to the pillows, his eyes soft and questioning.

"Yes, yes." Qui-Gon murmured, on the edge of sleep. "Feels good."

He could barely feel, and certainly never registered the ghost of a kiss on his lips before drifting away to slumber.

The days took on a surrealistic boredom for Pitco. Afraid to leave the boy alone, he was trapped in their quarters or the building's small bazaar and commissary. He kept his eyes open and thought he recognised the faces that tracked him and Ben throughout the complex. There was little in the bazaar worth buying, but Dealik made a show of purchasing some local liquor and some new clothing for Ben. The simple tunic and leggings of Altaira were a sore thumb and he hoped to shield the lad by dressing him in the local style. Ben made his own decision about that and flatly refused to even try the drab jumpsuit, holding it up between finger and thumb with an expression of disdain that made Dealik laugh. It was worth the money to see a definitive 'No!' in the changeable eyes.

He did not drink the alcohol, but poured away more than half in the 'fresher and refilled the bottle with water. When they were in public, he made a great show of swigging his flask and behaving in a more-than-slightly drunken fashion, hoping to draw their watchers into action. The Jedi Master seemed too exhausted to do more than collapse under the boy's gentle ministrations at night. / Humph!! So much for Jedi stamina! /

Those massage sessions had become long enough to give Dealik the chance to check the local night life and keep his ear to the ground. He knew that drunken offworlders often hear interesting things in taverns. There were about ten in their building's complex and he intended to check them all.

Weeks of this tedium chafed on Pitco. He could feel the eyes that watched him but they were slippery and smart and never tipped their hand.

Meanwhile, Qui-Gon struggled to resurrect the stalled negotiations. The only bright spot were the evenings, when those gentle hands soothed away the days' tensions. Relaxed and nearly boneless one night, Qui-Gon felt the kiss that had been a part of this tender ritual since the beginning. His blue eyes snapped open and he caught hold of the narrow wrists. "You don't have to do that, Ben."

He froze when the young man shifted forward, slim arms wound round his neck, ruddy head pressed against his shoulder. The arms tightened and Ben raised his head.

// Want to. //

"No, Ben. That's not necessary." The Master Jedi was wide awake and struggling with a flood of emotion that threatened to drown him. The damned bond was a river of light between them and Ben's eyes were bright.

// Belong together. // His mental voice was soft and lilting, a hint of a laugh in it. It sounded like music.

For the first time in many years, Master Qui-Gon Jinn was speechless.

// You're like me. Knew you would come. // Ben said simply.

Qui-Gon smiled ruefully. It might be that simple for the youth, but for him? What of his own work, what of the Council? Then there was the pilot. What in all the ghods would he think if he were to come back to this? It was insane.

His head was spinning, but his heart protested. Insanity was refusing the gentle touches, the soft kisses Ben was raining on his face. Qui-Gon was not about to go insane by denial or default. The long-fingered hands were like butterflies fluttering against his neck, dancing in his hair.

Qui-Gon leaned forward to claim the offered lips.

* * *

Pitco returned from another unsuccessful pub crawl very late that night. The kitten met him with her usual "chrrrrup," then marched back to his bed for a nap. Yawning, he shed garments haphazardly, taking care to keep quiet lest he wake the boy. In the darkness of his room, he was about to dive between the sheets when he realised that it was silent. There was not a hint of the soft, even breathing from the low pallet against the wall. He flicked on the light in a panic. He was not there. Flinging on his pants, he bolted into the common room, paused to grab his blaster and threw open the door to Jinn's room.

Ben was curled against the tall Jedi, entwined in a tangle of limbs. The long tendrils of Qui-Gon's loosened hair snaked over the clinging arms and across his arched neck. Dealik's eyes were beginning to burn. There, just above the bird-like collar bone was a deep, purple mark. He stirred in his sleep, tightened his grasp and nestled against the Jedi's shoulder. Pitco spun on his heel and quietly closed the door behind him.

Qui-Gon's eyes gleamed in the low light just before dawn. He bent his head to press a kiss against the young man's temple, and slid from the warm embrace. The storm was upon him and he rose to greet it.

Pitco heard the movements in the common room and listened long enough to know they were not the lad's soft footfalls. Qui-Gon was sitting by the window, watching the sun rise over the interminable grey landscape.

"You bloody bastard." Pitco kept his voice low. "What the hell do you think you're playing at?"

The wan light threw the Master Jedi's hawk-like profile into harsh relief. "It is not what you imagine, Pitco." He shook his head and ran a hand through his mane of silvering hair. "No matter."

"Are you happy now? You've finally done him? That's what you've wanted all along, isn't it?" The pilot's voice was a hiss. "You miserable bastard, I should shoot you where you stand."

"You could." Qui-Gon's voice was soft.

"I suppose this was his choice, that's what you're going to say, right?" Dealik Pitco sat down heavily across from the tall Jedi, his hands balled up into fists. "Like that boy has any idea what a choice is!!" He leaned in close, his green eyes sparks in the pale light. "Damn it, man!! It's taken him over two months to make a decision about what to wear!! Do you really think he'd would have refused you? That he could have? You pompous, manipulative son of a bitch."

Qui-Gon's eyes watched him, no anger in them, only a gentle sadness that further galled the enraged pilot. Pitco bolted up and began pacing.

"Is this what you Jedi are all about? Find 'em and fuck 'em!? You and your kind, hiding behind your ancient philosophies!! For what? To use and abuse a poor lad like that!! What did you do? Wave your hand to make him believe that he wanted you? Is that how you managed it? Or did you just fuck him and leave the mind-tricks for after?"

The Master Jedi's eyes were full of a tired sort of pity. "Pitco, I know you won't understand. There's no sense in trying to explain it."

"No, there is no explanation. And no bloody excuse. I've stood by and watched you, Jinn. I've seen your eyes on him. I knew what you wanted, maybe before even you knew it. You unimaginable bastard!! How could you abuse him like that?!" The pilot's voice had risen. "How the hell do you live with yourself, Master Jedi? Are you on such a higher plane that the trust and affection of a lad like that" Pitco stabbed one thick finger at the closed door. "means nothing in the face of the overwhelming needs of the Jedi!?"

He stood over Qui-Gon, his big body quivering with rage. "I wish I could throttle you." He grabbed hold of the collar of the Jedi's sleep robe, his knuckles white. "Just remember this, you prick. No matter what you think you are, you are no better than the scum that hurt and starved and used him. No better than those who taught him that he was worthless and robbed him of everything, even his voice!! Don't ever forget that, Jinn. You might as well have done what they did to him. Oh, but you didn't see it, did you?"

The pilot's voice was a harsh growl. "You were too busy saving the universe, I forgot. I'll bet you thought those nipple-rings were so sexy, didn't you? Put there to please you, didn't you think?" Pitco's face was inches from Qui-Gon's, lips curling into a snarl. "Do you know what they were for? To chain him to a block so they could beat and rape him. Oh, but you weren't there!" His balled fist pulled back.

The Jedi never moved to avoid the blow. It crashed down to the side of his face with bruising force, skidding across to split his lips.

There was a soft movement by the door and the boy was somehow between them, on his knees, one arm thrown up to ward Pitco off, the other curling around Qui-Gon's neck. His face was ashen-pale, contorted with grief.

"There you go, Jinn. Your saviour, custom-whammied to protect you. I hope you're proud of yourself!"

Pitco stalked to the door when he heard a thump and spun around.

Ben was banging his fist on the floor, hunched over on his knees, rocking back and forth, tears streaming down his cheeks. Qui-Gon reached out one hand.

"You touch him, and I swear I'll kill you right now." Pitco had the blaster aimed solidly at the Jedi's head.

Ben rose up on his knees, his expression wild, shaking his head until his hair was flying, his unspoken screams vibrating in the early morning air. For a long moment, both men watched as the tear-wet eyes darted between them, dilating black. Then, the boy's face crumpled and his body with it as he collapsed to the floor, shaking with convulsive sobs.

The Jedi and the pilot locked eyes, both still as statues, as Ben shuddered back up to his knees, one hand extended to Pitco, palm upward, fingers trembling and pleading. Reluctantly, the pilot went to him and covered the palsied hand with his own. The shaking fingers locked around his as Ben reached the other hand out to the Jedi.

Qui-Gon hesitated.

// Please!! // It was a choked whisper in his mind.

Both big hands pressed to his wet face, Ben was still rocking slightly, his breath hitching in strangled gasps. Over his head, the green and blue eyes met grimly in a look that spoke truce, but no surrender.

Pitco knelt down beside Ben, his arm around the quivering body. When the youth turned into the broad shoulder, he jerked his chin at the Jedi.

Qui-Gon nodded and rose to wipe the blood from his face and prepare for another day while the pilot carried Ben back to his pallet.

Pitco woke groggily to a thin stream of afternoon sunshine. Long, painful hours had passed until Ben had finally cried himself to sleep, curled up on the pallet in a sad little ball of pain. Dealik stroked the russet hair back, his eyes tired and sorry. He was glad he had confronted that son of a Hutt, Jinn, but he would have done much to have spared the lad such grief. He, too, had eventually drifted into an emotionally exhausted sleep.

There were voices in the common room. Pitco struggled to sit up.

"Well, now. I think you should take a little stroll with us, sweetie." The voice was oily and dangerous. By all the ghods, Ben must be out there. Pitco slowly rose from the bed, moving with surprising silence for such a big man.

"Yeah, I think that your Jedi friend'll wanna know what's happened to you, pretty."

A burst of coarse laughter made Pitco grind his teeth. It sounded like there were two or three of them.

A short scuffle of movement and there was more laughter.

"Oh no you don't!! C'mon, boy. Wake up your fat friend in there! C'mon. I wanna hear you scream."

A sharp slap and Pitco bit back a groan. He could only imagine how Ben was reacting to all this. He was dressed now and hovered near the door.

"C'mon, you little whore. Wake him up for me. I bet you'd just love to, wouldn't you."

"Hey, shut the hell up. The less bother with this the better. We've got the brat, now let's get going."

"Why not?" The was another slap. "What? So quiet? I'll be you're used to this? Tell me, pretty, do they both use you at the same time? Or do they take turns."

Pitco's breath was coming in harsh gasps. It only occurred to him as he burst through the door that his blaster was in his jacket. His jacket was slung over the chair about five meters away.

The room exploded into a frenzy as Pitco launched himself at the nearest abductor. Wrestling him to the ground, he struck hard and felt ribs crack under his fist.

Then, a blaster at his temple made him stop.

Ben was in the grip of the tallest of the three remaining men, his face paper-white. He shook his head.

The man holding his arm laughed again and shifted his grip to pull his head back, a vibro-shiv at the slender throat.

"I'd stay put unless you want to watch your pet bleed to death."

Pitco could only think, nonsensically, how glad he was that the cat was asleep on the boy's pallet.

"Now, we're taking this one with us. You can stay here and tell the Jedi if he wants his toy, he'll listen to us. Right, you!" he twisted Ben's arm up behind his back, wrenching it cruelly.

"Not bad for endurance." he laughed. "What? Is he used to a bit of the lash, pilot?"

Pitco took a long breath. "He can't talk. Leave him alone."

"Can't talk? Even better."

The one with the blaster at Pitco's head chortled. "What was that play about the one who couldn't tell? Didn't they cut off her hands too?"

Pitco lunged backwards, knocking him off-balance and scrambled for the blaster. The one holding Ben threw the lad to the floor and dug the blade into the pilot's knee, twisting it.

"That should keep you still. " He panted, rising to place a booted foot on the boy's neck. "You stay put or I'll snap you in two. Tie him up."

Dealik was dizzy with the pain, blood soaking into his trouser leg. He fought as they trussed him to a chair, but a kick to the gut made him nauseous. His leg felt as though it were burning from the inside.

The tall one had pulled Ben back up against his chest, one hand groping beneath the loose neckline of his tunic.

"Well, well. If our Jedi isn't the kinky one." He grabbed the material with both hands and tore it open across the boy's heaving chest, then looped a finger through each of the rings and tugged at them. "Very pretty!!" He yanked and then twisted them. "He is the silent type, isn't he!"

Ben's face was shuttered, and Pitco was horrified, through his own agony, to see that too-familiar dazed expression descend like a mask. Even the youth's posture echoed defeat and a return to mindless submission. It was like watching the sun disappear behind a permanent haze of clouds.

Ben had sagged back against his captor, his neck bent, arms hanging limp at his sides. The man laughed again, still toying with the ringed nipples that hardened beneath his fingers.

"Very responsive. Knows his place, doesn't he, pilot? Well, you'll get him back when Jinn gives us what we want. Until then, I think we can keep him warmed up for you." He turned the slight body in his arms, his hand twisted in the silken hair, pulling Ben into a bruising kiss. "Open your mouth, whore."

The trembling lips parted, then the man's shriek was muffled in the kiss. He tried to pull back but the youth had locked one arm around his neck and held him fast. There was blood streaming down both their chins.

Ben wrenched his head back, one arm shot out and the blaster flew from the Pitco's guard's hand into his own, the guard careening backward into the wall. He whirled around, shot the kisser in the leg, then Force-pushed him to the ground. It happened so fast he was a blur.

The remaining man must have seen Pitco's harness. He made a dive for the jacket, but a blast caught him mid-air. He fell to the floor like a stone.

Qui-Gon threw the door open, lightsabre blazing.

* * *

Master Jinn had spent the day with half his mind on the droning discussions. His heart was torn and tender, as if it had been battered while bruised. There was simply nothing he could say to Dealik Pitco that would convince him of the night's magic. The Master Jedi was past fifty years himself. His life, spent in the Jedi Order and given to the service of the Force, was checkered and marked with the currents of personal and political oceans. He often felt as though each year of his life constituted a century of experiences. Deeply private in his personal life, Qui-Gon had been loved. He had experienced lust, passion, deep affection. He had lived with the same depth and intensity he focused on his perception of the Living Force around him, but he had never been bonded in love. Now, his heart felt physically full, swelling inside him like a pulsing organic bubble, ready to burst through to surround him and the silent Tivallian outcast.

He wondered how he could have spent so much of his life without the sensation.

He knew that the worst was yet to come. He had to either acknowledge this bond and let it grow, bring the boy back to the Temple and try to recreate his shattered existence; or let it freeze its young life away, locked in the coldest recesses of himself. To do one, he would renounce his life; the other, his soul.

It required all his disciplined mind to listen to the day's arguments, agony hidden beneath the calm-sea blue of his gaze.

// Qui-Gon!!! HELP US!! //

The mental scream made him reel, even as he was flying to the door.

His sabre was already alight as he threw open the door to their quarters.

Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn had seen many things that had made him sick and sorry but nothing had ever raised such a storm in him as the sight of Ben, blood streaming from lips to chest, a blaster raised in hands that shook almost as much as his legs. Above the scarlet mask that covered his face, the enormous eyes were steady, transparent pools of silvery light.

He sat in the complex infirmary next to the pilot's bed. Pitco was finally asleep. The wound was a bad one and Qui-Gon had not thought twice before adding his own skills to the limited medical practioner's. Ben was curled up in the corner, the whites of his eyes gleaming.

Betaan authorities had cleaned up the rest of the mess. It had been a stupid, simple plan by a small splinter group. Qui-Gon shuddered. So stupid and so simple it nearly succeeded, he thought. He was exhausted, but could not sleep, his mind turning over and over again his reaction to that horrific scene.

Rage. Blind, hot, bloody rage.

This was no mere anger stemming from fear. This was terror begetting a monstrous progeny of white-hot fury. He shivered again like a plucked harp string. It had not mattered that Ben was unharmed, that the blood was his tormentor's. Nothing had mattered but the need to protect his bondmate or die in the process. Nothing mattered but to avenge and rend the forces that had wounded his own.

Qui-Gon's head dropped into his hands. He knew all the solutions and each one made him want to laugh more hysterically than the last. Meditation? Oh, certainly. Meditate on gutting the bastard who dared to touch him. Reach out to the Force? By all means, to grab them all by their miserable throats and choke the life out of them. Release the anger to the Force? Of course, just as soon as their lips turn blue.

There was a tug on his tunic.

Ben knelt up, his hand raised to the bearded, care-worn cheek.

// Peace. //

He took Qui-Gon's hand in his and kissed the palm gently.

The Jedi's tired eyes met his and he sighed. "How did you do it? You've never used a weapon in your life. You nearly killed a man. It's not possible."

Ben smiled at him. // No chains. Just love. //

Qui-Gon sighed. Of course it would be that simple for Ben.

Ben shook his head. // For you. See? For you. //

Oh, Force, Qui-Gon thought miserably, he acted only to keep himself from being used as a pawn against me. And I acted solely to blot out anything that threatened him for myself.

The negotiations dragged on for a few more days, but the attack on the Jedi Master helped to bring them to a temporary truce. A week later, the travelers were aboard "The Beast" and headed to a Galactic outpost for fuel and proper medical care for Pitco.

Relations between the two men were outwardly cordial, masking a frosty calm. Ben cared for Dealik Pitco, changing the bandages on the wounded leg twice a day and pouring his gentle calm into healing. He watched Qui-Gon with confused, sorrowing eyes as the Jedi closed him out of his mind. He tried once more to break through the Master's rigid control. Then he retreated, sad, questioning looks the only remains of his attempt to touch the man roped to his heart.

Qui-Gon used the time to arrange for another transport and contacted the Council of his imminent arrival. The boy would be all right. Pitco could give him independence, a trade, the will to live and the protection he needed while learning. Ben had already shown his ability to defend himself. In time, he would learn to be truly free and make his own choices. The Force would simply have to let this one go on to live his own life.

Qui-Gon had spent many years on ships, but space was never so cold. The "Jerainta" was closing on Dantoine and its system. Coruscant was a day away at their current, leisurely cruise speed. The luxury liner's opulence made the Jedi Master's lips quirk into a sardonic smile. It seemed an appropriate counterpoint to the iced emptiness he felt within himself. Even his trepidation at facing his old Master with his guilty failure paled before the bleak landscape etched on a glass heart. He dreamed of Ben; daydreamed of Ben; saw those exquisite eyes in every reflective surface. The breaking bond writhed and snapped, flailing in it's death throes. It would pass. He felt frozen.

Dealik had just begun to walk about freely when he got the notice from the Temple ordering him to pick up some Knight at a system close-by. He hadn't really noticed that Jinn was gone, imagining that the man was simply keeping his distance to avoid another confrontation. He nodded, grinning to himself when he got the comlink. / Well, that's just fine with me, Master Jinn. Run back to your Temple! / He was immediately ashamed and angry at himself. It was cruel to think like that when the boy was probably heartbroken. He hurried back to the hostel rooms.

Ben was curled up on the bed, staring blankly ahead of him. His whole body was limp, his face still and devoid of any emotion. He looked dead.

Pitco raced to his side, shaking him violently. "Ben. C'mon, boy. Ben!!"

The big eyes slid over to meet his dully, then moved away, all the light in them doused.

Pitco called the Healers only to hear the worst news he could have imagined. He had co-mingled with Force-sensitives all his life, but had never understood much of the price they paid for their gift. He had heard about 'bonds' and laughed them off as just so much mystical crap. Ben was dying of mystical crap.

Dealik clenched his hands, lip thrust out to contain tears. The sleek young cat jumped lightly into his lap and he petted her absently, looking over her head to where the boy lay. He had not moved for four days. Every time the Healers had tried to feed him fluids, nutrients, even the strength of their own minds, he had shut down. IV's flew out of veins that continually collapsed, thoughts were pushed away. There was nothing they could do to help.

He rose heavily and went to the communications kiosk.

"You've got to get ahold of him!" Pitco was yelling into the vid-comlink. The droid made some odd clucking sounds, it's image wavering. It buzzed and chittered a little more.

"I'm sorry, sir but the party in question is not listed on the manifesto. Can I get a superior class three droid to assist you?"

"That won't be necessary." Jinn's voice was tired, his face lined and grey.

Pitco stared at him for a moment, then led him to the small room in silence. He was about to leave, not wanting to intrude, when the Jedi stopped him.

"No, stay here. He will need you." he rasped.

Pitco sank into his chair as Qui-Gon sat beside Ben, reaching out with mind and body. The Jedi was shaking as he cradled the limp form, big hand supporting the fragile neck. The song that had echoed between them these past months was barely a whisper now, only tantalising snatches left to warm his frozen heart.

// Come back to me, love. Come back, I'm here. //

The tawny head lolled on his shoulder, the eyes a terrifying blank.

// Ben, don't leave me. Please, Ben. Please. // The Master Jedi could not have spoken aloud for sobs.

The luminous eyes blinked once, then slowly began to focus. Pitco was gripping the arms of the chair as though he could break them.

Then the white hands were tangled in Qui-Gon's hair, lips pressed to his as though surfacing through fathoms of pain.

"Hush, hush now. Love, it's all right. Ben. "

// Not Ben. //

"What my love? What is it?"

// Obi-Wan. //

Qui-Gon pulled back sharply. "What did you say?"

// My name is Obi-Wan. //

"Obi-Wan?"

// Yes. Obi-Wan Kenobi. //

* * *

"No, Master Poof. I did not 'teach' him anything. He's barely communicated a full sentence to me." Qui-Gon was fighting off another headache, answering the same questions for the sixth or seventh time.

"No, Master Billaba, I did not sense his presence on the planet at all. I wasn't in the same building. I did not know why. I only knew later how strong his shields are. "

"No, Master Tiin, I first encountered him on board "The Beast". Yes, Master, I was aware of the bond from the beginning."

And if you all don't stop yammering at me, I'm quite sure I will begin to scream, Qui-Gon thought for the thousandth time. Then the questions began again, the same questions, subtly changed in attempts to confuse him.

"Troubled you feel, Master Qui-Gon." Yoda said softly.

Qui-Gon bit back a curse, his eyes circled and weary. "I am tired, Master Yoda. I went off on a series of missions just as I have for decades. I returned with a lifebond to a voiceless young man less than half my age who displays training that cannot be accounted for and who will die without me. I cannot imagine what you think is troubling me."

"Sarcastic you are when tired." There was no expression in Yoda's voice, but Qui-Gon smiled at the jibe.

"Forgive me, my Master."

Yoda stood up. "Call this session I do. Meet again we will tomorrow."

Qui-Gon trudged back to his quarters, stifling yawns every three feet. He had never been grilled by the Council in this fashion for three days running.  
The mental and psychic pressure was crushing.

Ben...Obi-Wan was waiting for him with tea and a light meal. Qui-Gon fell to eating mechanically, barely hearing Pitco's occasional murmur. They had been at the Temple for over a week and the pilot had submitted "The Beast" for a full overhaul. He had his own place in the Fifth sector, but spent much of his time with the boy and Qui-Gon at the Temple.

Obi-Wan settled happily. Qui-Gon and Dealik both suspected that wherever the Jedi Master came to rest, the youth would settle happily. He quickly took over the household tasks with his usual quiet efficiency.

Later that evening, Qui-Gon sat at his desk, worrying through file after file of creche data. There was a single mention of the name Kenobi, a Padawan some three hundred years back from a green, windswept planetoid in the Alderaan system. Perhaps it was a long-ago ancestor. Whatever the case, the boy was a mystery. Forcesakes, Qui-Gon thought, he can't even read!! There was no possible way the Council could approve formal training. There was also no possible way for him to be separated from Obi-Wan. Ben. He would always be Ben.

The young man's arms snaked around his neck as he slid into Qui-Gon's lap and pointed to the screen.

"Words, Ben. Nothing but words."

He read on for a while, enjoying the soft puff of the youth's breath against his neck, the tickle of his lashes. An hour or so later, he ruffled the coppery hair. "You must be bored to tears watching me read."

Ben smiled and led him into the bedroom.

He was shocked beyond reason to find the boy immersed in front of the screen the next day, eyes following the text accurately.

"I think I understand now, Master Yoda. He's picking things up from me through the bond, learning in real time by some sort of empathy. I've never seen anything like it. Yesterday, he was illiterate. He spent a hour watching me read the datascreen. Today, he's reading fluently. At least, I think he is. He hasn't let me know.

"Talk to young Kenobi you do?"

Qui-Gon nodded. "Mentally, yes, I told you. He never utters a sound that I've heard. Pitco says he was punished for crying out when he was accidentally hurt, so I imagine he can speak. The Healers examined him and his larynx is intact. You all heard Dealik Pitco's testimony of how he was trained. I got vivid images of that training when I healed him." He grimaced.

Yoda waved his stick in the air. "Unimportant are the sounds. Speak he will when he wishes. Different is communication with you."

Master Jinn sighed deeply and hunched down lower. "Master, I have to--" his voice was low and thrilling with pain. "I felt rage. Not anger, but pure, murderous fury. How can I continue with that? Knowing that I can feel that at any time?"

Yoda gestured Depa Billaba into the room from the doorway where she had been standing, her beautiful face illuminated by the soft light.

"Qui-Gon, how much do you know about bonding?"

The tall Master ran his hand through a mane of hair he'd managed to muss in less than an hour. Obi-Wan -- Ben -- had carefully dressed it that morning. I'm developing tics, Qui-Gon thought distractedly. This is madness.

"Madness it is not, Qui-Gon. Stubborn you are!" Yoda had waddled over to the tall window.

Depa sank down into the chair opposite him and took one hand in hers. "Listen to me, Master Jinn. The only madness is to deny the bond. You cannot do that. You may survive it, but the boy will not. He needs you. That rage is natural and you can learn to control it, as you have learned to control other emotions. It is simply a reaction to the threat. With understanding will come control."

"And what of my work? My life? Force knows I never asked for this!" The big man's eyes were red-rimmed with lack of sleep.

"No one does, Qui-Gon. It's part of what we are in the Force. The hardest part, I think. And it always comes where you least expect it."

"Yes," Qui-Gon's voice was bitter. "I've such a talent for teaching."

A sharp smack to his knee made him start. Yoda looked up at him with as close to an expression of anger in his eyes as the Jedi Master had ever seen.

"Wallow in self-pity you will not, Padawan!"

Qui-Gon sighed. "All right. All right. I can't fight you both, the Council and him. So what do I do? How does this compromise my use to the Order?"

Depa smiled. "Stop thinking in linear terms, Qui-Gon. Your life will simply change. You know this. Change is inevitable. Did you really think you would escape it? That the Force had you alone singled out for a static existence?"

The tall Jedi stretched, twisting the kinks out of his back. "Well, I must say that the Force has got one hell of sense of humour. I'm too old for this! And he's too old to be trained."

"Hmmmmm. Uncertain that is."

Dealik was sitting in his own quarters, staring out at the traffic when he heard a soft knock at his door. "The Beast" was shipshape and he was ready to depart in several days' time to pick up Knight Carassil from the Endor system. He would be gone for several months, he reckoned. It would be good to resume his normal work, but, Force he would miss Ben. The thought of the ship without that gentle presence made his heart ache a little. The door slid open and Ben came to him, dropping to one knee with a smile.

"What is it, boy? Come to say goodbye?"

The ruddy head shook and he handed Pitco a card, then lifted something from beneath the sleeve of the flowing Jedi robe he now wore. The cat, squirming and attempting to chew her way out of his grasp, jumped into the pilot's lap, glared at Ben and settled down to wash herself. Dealik stared from one to the other and started to laugh. The boy's smile was dazzling.

Several hours later, Dealik Pitco was gazing around the High Council chamber curiously. He had never seen it and was fascinated by the ancient decorations, the entire chamber constructed to project calm and awe. Qui-Gon looked as though he was standing upright by sheer willpower. Pitco almost felt sorry for him. He had only partially forgiven Jinn for bedding the boy although he understood a little better. He did know he was damned glad he had not been born Force-sensitive. Bad enough to be human and to feel. His heart ached just a little as he watched Ben's shining eyes raised to the big Jedi. It seemed a million years ago that he had first seen a starved and wretched thrall labouring under the weight of two buckets of water.

Now, the young man standing beside Qui-Gon was vibrant and beautiful and free. The Jedi? Well, Pitco grinned, maybe he was the thrall now.

The High Council had just finished the words of the formal bonding ceremony, taking Obi-Wan's nods for valid responses. Qui-Gon was about to turn when Yoda stepped forward.

"Qui-Gon Jinn, do you take Obi-Wan Kenobi as your Padawan Learner?"

A thrill of joy and fear raced through the tall body. Was he capable of this task? Ben's fingers brushed his hand. There was nothing but trust and infinite love in the changeling eyes.

"I will." He heard himself breathe.

"And you, Obi-Wan Kenobi. Do you accept Qui-Gon Jinn as your Master?"

The russet head bent and he smiled down at the diminutive Councilor, then back up at his bondmate.

"I will." His voice was the barest whisper of sound, echoing like a chime in the tallest recesses of the Temple, to the ends of a world that could dim but never break him, on and outward into the sparkling depths of space, ringing softly in the collective heart of the Force.

FIN


End file.
